Homophobia on YouTube?

‘Busty babes in tiny bikinis’, lesbians exchanging sensual kisses,
women with 44DD busts in skin tight dresses touching each others lycra
clad breasts: you have to love YouTube, you can find nearly everything
there.

Except for some photographs of me – YouTube have just disabled three
of the videos that I put together as a self promotion because they
breached the ‘community guidelines’.

As an aspiring writer and author trying to get a book deal in a
competitive market I’ll use whatever I can to get attention. In my
case it’s my ass and YouTube.

My breach of the ‘community guidelines’- I can’t tell you what it is,
they haven’t told me. And under the ‘terms of use’ they don’t have to.

I have my suspicions as to why. In the videos were a few provocative
images of me, a couple with my panties around my legs and ankles –
I’ve attached a couple of the ‘offending’ images to this post. In them
I was wearing a second g-string, but the angle of the shot means you
can’t see them, so I wasn’t nude, it was just ‘suggested’ by the
image, see for yourself, the links are below.

I was telling another tranny friend about this, and she had another
theory; here it is: she thinks it’s because I’m a transsexual.

I kind of dismissed this at first, but when I thought a little more it
seemed to make some sense.

Women seem to be able to kiss and show their g-string clad arses and
scantily clad breasts and it seems to be fine with YouTube. But a
transsexual being just as provocative as a ‘real’ woman? Maybe they
don’t like that. Maybe they don’t know how to deal with that – and my
images are mild in comparison to what’s out there.

I hate to sound like a cranky, whining, trannny, complaining about
‘homophobia’ or whatever , I’m really not that kind of girl – but her
theory really makes sense, a lot of heterosexual men and women are
‘confronted’ , ‘uneasy’ or ‘intimidated’ by transexualism (if you know
what I mean). There’s a lot of discrimination out there. Maybe this is
the case here.

So perhaps they didn’t know how to deal with my images, so they
decided to disable them on the basis of some poorly defined ‘community
guidelines’. Have a look at the images and make up your own mind. Is
she right? Could it be homophobia (or whatever the transexual
equivalent is called) Maybe they do breach the ‘standards’ or maybe
she’s just a little ‘over sensitive’ about being a tranny, I really
don’t know – as I said, look at the images and judge for yourself.

You can bet that I wasn’t happy about being ‘disabled’ by YouTube, so
I didn’t leave it there. I’m such a trouble maker.

I’ve upped the stakes a little and posted a couple more videos that
really push the boundaries – just to see what happens.

One has me smearing whipped cream all over myself. The other has me in
the shower wearing nothing more than a red string bikini.

If you told me a week ago that I’d be making a video of me rubbing
whipped cream onto my belly to get my revenge upon YouTube I’d
politely ask if I could share what you had been taking… it’s
interesting really, can you actually make a point by rubbing whipped
cream onto your belly and wiggling provocatively? A nice warm shower
in a red bikini as revenge?

Take that YouTube.

God only knows how they’ll deal with those videos. You can check them
out by following these links if you like:

Watch them, better yet forward them. Make them a YouTube sensation –
success is always the best revenge, let’s see what they do when they
make the ‘most viewed today’ page. My bet is that they suddenly decide
that these videos also breach ‘community standards’.

Let’s just see what they do.

It drives me crazy. On-line ‘mainstream’ ‘communities’ and media can
be so conservative. This has happened to me before – Slide Share
deleted my account. Authonomy rejected my profile and my profile
image… the list goes on. It’s tedious. This is 2010 right?

I’d be interested to hear your stories on homophobia in digital
communities. Maybe it is real. Let me know if you have one, email me:
laviniadarling@gmail.com

Anyway, being even more provocative is my way of protesting. I’m not
sure what else to do. If you have any ideas let me know, I could do
with some advice as I’m not sure covering myself in whipped cream will
really prove anything to YouTube, (so I’m open to ideas) - I’m sure
the entire transsexual community would be grateful.

Any marketers, PR people, gay activists or digital people out there?

Hope to hear from you, let me know what you think.

Thanks

X

Lavinia Sonderberg-Beck
Sydney Australia

www.filthytrannywhore.com
laviniadarling@gmail.com
Twitter: @darlinglavinia

P.S. You’ll find YouTube’s e-mail to me below:

“Regarding your account: laviniadarling
The following video(s) from your account have been disabled for
violation of the YouTube Community Guidelines:

Intimate with me.wmv - (laviniadarling)

Your account has received one Community Guidelines warning strike,
which will expire in six months. Additional violations may result in
the temporary disabling of your ability to post content to YouTube
and/or the termination of your account.
Sincerely,

The YouTube Team”

A ballerina, a nurse, an airline stewardess, a weather girl: these
were my ambitions when I was young. All fine ambitions for a young
girl. Not so realistic for a young boy.

As for the ballerina, the nurse and the airline stewardess - my
ambitions had a lot to do with the look; I wanted to dress like a
ballerina, a nurse or an airline stewardess – who dosnlt?

Mostly I really, really wanted to be a nurse. You got to be pretty and
do something important. If I couldn’t make the grade as a nurse, I
would have settled for being a receptionist in a medical centre. You
still got to wear the nice white uniform, but you got to wear high
heels too if you want. And you can do the job sitting down.

I couldn’t be a nurse, but at least I got halfway there – I got to be
a girl. But my ‘nurse’ dream never really left me.

Anyway, I’ve just got one unexpected step closer to my dream. Last
Tuesday, when I was rummaging at St Vinnie’s, I found this nurses
uniform, and bought it.

This week I took up the hem and took it in at the waist. It’s nice and
tight. Really tight. Probably too tight. And most definitely too
short. In fact I now look more like a nurse-o-gram than a medical
receptionist.

I quite like that.

I wear it with these white high heels and underneath I wear a white
corset, bra and suspenders. I like the contrast of the starched white
‘prim and proper’ exterior with the ‘Victoria’s Secret thing’
underneath. I’m not sure if that’s what real nurses and medical
receptionists have under their uniforms, but if I was a nurse or
medical receptionist you can bet that’s what I’d be wearing under my
uniform.

If you discount the fact that I’ve taken it in and up, the uniform
itself is very ‘sensible’. It makes me feel very ‘professional’, if
you know what I mean.

I’m really not sure where to wear the thing. I can’t exactly go out
during the day looking like a nurse-o-gram and it’s kind of hard to
wear it clubbing – I attract the wrong kinds of men as it is. Wearing
my nurse’s outfit, I can guess at the kind of attention I’d get - you
can imagine it, people with uniform fetishes and nurse fantasies. Or
medical conditions.

I like the idea of being in the medical profession. I have a good
bedside manner and accept all major credit cards.

Maybe being a mock nurse is my calling. I’m sure I’d be good at it. If
you need a mock nurse let me know.

My last childhood ambition was to be a weather girl. The idea dawned
upon me when I was about 15. You got to be pretty, stand around in
high heels and a short skirt; people listened to you and got to be on
TV. My ambition hasn’t changed much since then.

I’d love to be a weather girl. I’d be great at it. And unlike the
weather girls on TV I could promise you a lovely day, every day.

X

Lavinia

I was rolling around in bed pouting and wiggling during one of those
‘adult’ web-cam things and decided to snap a few photographs of myself
at the same time.

So, this is what I look like when I’m on-line. Grainy, blurry, fuzzy
and under-dressed. I have to learn to keep my clothes on – or at
least dress warm.

I also realised that I don’t take photographs of myself – this is it,
this is all there is. I’ll have to do better than this.

I need a theme for them, you know, where I get to dress up as a bunny
or in a uniform or costume or something – any ideas?

Let me know and I’ll make a self portrait my next rainy day activity.

X

Lavinia.

Ok, two days ago I tweeted this:

“Latest: Have dinner with me! to finance my career as a writer I'm selling 3 dinner dates with
me! Hungry? Let me know: www.filthytrannywhore.com ”

I’ve sold one – yippee.

However that still leaves Friday and Sunday nights – so you want to go to dinner?

Seriously, I need to quit my job. I’ll never become Australia’s most
famous living transsexual author if I’m stuck in an office three days
a week doing research for some corporation that thinks I’m a
‘novelty’. You should meet these people, they are tedious. My job is
seriously boring. Only a series of dinner dates can save me – so how
about it?

On another note one kind gentleman (thank you ‘pantsman54’) has
offered me money in exchange for smutty photographs and dirty e-mail
correspondence.

I’ve thought seriously about this and decided it’s a good idea. What
do you think? Are you interested too?

I know this must make me sound like a trashy whore, maybe I am, but I
promise to be tasteful. Unless you want me to be a trashy whore, I
don’t really mind. As long as it keeps me out of the stupid office.

For chrissakes, my job is so dull. Really, Roy Morgan Values Segment
data and media typology – pleeeeease, spare me. I really don’t care
what women 45 to 55 are reading (NW and Women’s Weekly still score
over Index, can you believe that?). Yet this is what I have to find
out. Think about it, is this what Australia’s first transsexual
superstar author should be doing to make money? I think not.

What I should be doing is e-mailing you semi pornographic photographs
of myself wearing Hello Kitty underwear and talking about how I can
relive your ‘stress’, or sitting down in a nice restaurant over a
bottle of Chablis giving you a hard on as I talk about my Hello Kitty
underwear.

Where the hell would I be without Hello Kitty?

Ok, help!

For a dinner date or a pornographic e-mail relationship you know where
to find me!

Love and kisses and Hello Kitty.

X

Lavinia.

Ok, so I’m wrote about Carla’s new ass and the her plastic surgery and
all of that maybe 6 months ago and Brittany is still talking about it
– as far as I’m concerned Carla’s new ass is old news.

But Brittany is still fixated on the subject, god knows why, anyway
last Saturday she comes up with this quote “your destiny is your
ass...”

I have no idea what this means, but we were so drunk at the time it
seems like the funniest quote in the world.

Anyway when we went to the ladies to do our make up Brittany hoists up
her skirt to reveal her ass and begins to ‘pole’ dance with the mirror
for every girl or tranny that walks in.

Thank god for the iPhone because I managed to grab a few shots of her
in action, this is one of them.

Maybe she’s right; maybe your ass is your destiny.

In which case you can now look at the picture and make your own
conclusions about Brittany's.

X

Lavinia.

You really ought to try going to a tranny bar with a whip. You meet
the nicest people.

'Karl’ for example. He had a Kieth Richards quality mound of coke and a
willingness to share. I didn’t fuck him and was never going to, but he
didnt know. He maybe didnt even care, I think just the possibility
that I would beat him into a bloody pulp at some point in the evening
was enough.

It was certainly enough to keep him cutting lines and buying drinks.

When you’re a tranny you get a lot of ‘tire kickers’ and time wasters,
the simplest way to establish whether they will deliver anything of
value is to start making demands for drinks.

Karl looked quite pathetic, but in a nice way, you know what I mean.
You could tell he was needy, but he kept it buried beneath this
confident suave act. He came on all 'confident man of the world',
polite, well dressed, full of witticism and innuendo, but underneath
you could tell he was just a mummy’s boy craving approval, or in his
case a flogging.

My kind of guy.

Anyway, so I demanded drinks, and to be sure he was not some useless
time waster, you know, full of talk but no action, I demanded
something ridiculous and expensive. I started by demanding a banana
daiquiri with a Jaeger chaser. I didn’t even want one, I only asked
because it sounded ridiculous. A banana fucking daiquiri, for
chrissakes, what a joke. I only demanded the chaser because it made
the drinks even more expensive. And he delivered.

Karl was no amateur, he wanted a tranny and he’d prepared. That’s why
he had the coke. Men who routinely trawl the tranny bars with coke
know that what their looks and charm won’t get them, the coke will.

And it did, or at least for a while.

By the time I’d hit Karel up for my 4th drink, a Manhattan, which I
only ordered because Bart Simpson made them for Fat Tony in an episode
of the Simpsons, and it seemed like a funny thing to order, Danni had
arrived.

Danni and I share many mutual interests, hormones, lingerie, casual
sex, coke, that kind of thing. Danni had news ‘my tits have grown’ and
was eager to share their progress with me.

Within in minutes we in the ladies and she was showing me her tits.

If you’ve read any of my blog ‘Filthy Tranny Whore’ you’ll know it
that I’ve spent a lot of time feeling the growing breasts of other
transsexuals. It’s an area of interest and I like to think I have
some expertise in these things. So it was only a matter of time before
my hands were all over Danni’s tits.

I thought this would be a great photo opportunity so I handed Crystal
my iPhone and she snapped the photos you see here.

You really ought to try going to a tranny bar with a whip. You meet
the nicest people.

‘Karl’ for example. He had coke and a
willingness to serve. I didn’t fuck him and was never going to, but he
didn’t know. He maybe didn’t even care, I think just the possibility
that he would end up on his knees with welts on his back and a cock in his mouth was enough.

There are rules to this game. Coke is exchanged for company, or at
least my company. Play by the rules and maybe, if you’re a very lucky
boy, I’ll whip you till you bleed.

There are other rules, this whole pretending to be a dominatrix thing
is new to me, so I’m figuring them out.

Here’s what I’ve learnt so far, ‘no’ means ‘more’, ‘I’ve been so bad’
means ‘more’, when I think about it, most of what they say means
‘more’.

I’d like to think I was a helpful girl.

It's funny, I've realised that I can photograph nearly anything if I
ask. Can I take photographs of me playing with your new breasts? Sure.
Why not. Go figure.

I also reckon I should be photographng more, it’s the only way people
are going to belive I actually do all this stuff I say I do.

Seriously, you’d be surprised by the number of people who don’t belive
it when I say things like ‘oh that guy, I chained him to the toilet
last weekend and pissed in his mouth’. Why would I lie about a thing
like that?

My plan is to photograph my next 3 or 4 way. Stay tuned.

X

Lavinia

‘I’ve been a very naughty boy’. I could tell by looking at him that
this was true.

I knew that he wanted punishing and he knew I was the woman (or
transsexual) for the job. I was at the Taxi Club, wearing lingerie
and carrying a riding crop. It doesn’t take a genius to join the dots.

It was fun. He was naughty. I did punish him and it was everything I’d
hoped for.

I could be good at this. I could probably charge for this.

There’s a back story to this.

The last few weekends have been tragic. I’ve not had much in the way
of action and the action I’ve had has been pathetic.

I was beginning to doubt my allure. There was a high point about 6
weeks ago when Brittany and I had this 4-way in that Hotel on Flinders
Street, and it’s all been down hill from there.

After that there was one tryst with a Turkish insurance agent in the
back seat of a Fiat Punto.

The Fiat Punto was designed by Italians. By good Catholic car
designers. These people know about sin. They know about trannies like
me and there was no way they were going to design a car that let
people like me do the devil’s work in the back seat.

It was a debacle.

The week before that, some random guy offered me coke in exchange for
‘touching’ me ‘down there’ in the toilets at Arq. After the coke he
chickened out and said he was ‘not ready’. Not ready for me? Not ready
for a tranny? Not ready for sex in a nightclub toilet? It struck me as
strange to score coke, then proposition a tranny, then get in to a
cubicle with a tranny only to freak out at the last minute? Go figure.

There’s more. Or less actually. It’s not that I didn’t get attention;
it’s just that I’ve been attracting the wrong kind of men. With the
wrong kind of cars. It’s was three weeks of fumbling, muttering,
groping and apologies. Three weeks of crap sex and disappointment.

So on Saturday night I decided to accessorise with a riding crop. Just
for the hell of it.

If I’d known how effective it was going to be I would have joined the
‘horsey set’ a long time ago.

I’m not a dominant person, nor am I submissive. I’m the kind of girl
that goes with the flow. Sure I’ve whipped people before, beaten
people, ground my stilettos into peoples backs, made them lick my
shoes, made them wear nappies and all the usual stuff, but I’ve also
been bound and gagged and humiliated and other things myself, you know
what I mean... anyway, the point is I’m not really into domination.

I figured the whip would just be fun, a conversation piece, you know,
like a gaudy bracelet or something. If I’d only known.

Information like this could change a girl’s life.

I was propositioned four times before 2 am. Four.

It seems that people who like to have the crap whipped out of them by
transsexuals wearing lingerie and carrying a riding crop are quite
forward – they’re happy to be very up-front about their interests.
They will seek you out and make their introductions – ‘I’ve been a
very naughty boy’.

I’m going to do this more often. Maybe once every few weeks. I’d do it
even more often, but it’s not as much fun as you think – I mean
there’s not much in it for me. It just doesn’t do it for me to see
people in pain cowering at my feet telling me how bad they are.

Having said that I’m up for anything, if the mood takes me. I also
love an excuse to dress up. So this is ok every now and again, but I’d
much prefer to be taken to a dinner at a nice restaurant, have a nice
meal, some champagne, maybe a dessert wine, a few lines, maybe a pill
and then have my brains fucked out in a hotel room. Call me old
fashioned, but it’s just the kind of girl I am.

I told Brittany all of this and she laughed her little head off, the
plan is for the both of us to go out next weekend looking like
dominatrixes (is that a word?).

We’ll be at the Taxi Club after about 11.30 then probably hit Arq
after 3am. You’ll recognise us; I’ll be the girl with the copy of
Horse and Hound.

X

Lavinia

This is me and Brittany. This is one of the things we do. Here, she’s cutting a line of coke for me, on her thigh, then I do the same thing for her. We like to share.